Nighttime

Rilla opened her eyes.

Outside the house a storm howled, with thunder growling, rain whipping against the windows and a lighting shedding everything in an eerie light for the split of a second.

And yet for a moment Rilla wondered, what exactly had woken her, for it hadn't been the storm, couldn't have been the storm, and then she heard the soft cry from the nursery, one of her babies, frightened surely, needing her.

She cast a look at Kenneth, sleeping soundly, peacefully at her side, then got up, instinctively hugging her arms around her body against the cold and stepped into the adjoining room.

A soft smile spreading over her features she went over to one of the cradles, the yellow one as she knew but couldn't see, and gently lifted her daughter out of it.

Little Ally, as she was commonly called, because as every child she still had to live up to the big name she had been given, immediately cuddled against her mother, content with being tended to or simply happy not to be alone any longer.

Rilla started to walk, talking quietly to the little girl, rocking and soothing her, because even if a storm like that failed to scare her by now, she had been afraid of storm well into her childhood and for a small baby like that they couldn't be anything but frightening.

She continued for some minutes, until Ally seemed asleep, but just when Rilla started to lay the girl back down, she opened her eyes and started crying again, prompting her mother to take her into her arms again and resume her walking.

Minutes passed, perhaps half an hour and yet the baby showed no signs of falling asleep, so after a while Rilla sat down in an old, comfortable rocker by the window, because while seven-month-old Ally was not very heavy, her mother, not having regained her full strength after the hard birth and the following weeks, even harder perhaps, still tired easily.

So they sat, Rilla rocking back and forth, stroking her daughter and thinking of Nan's upcoming wedding to Jerry, a minister himself now, just like his father, and the visit to Glen connected with it, to which Rilla looked forward immensely, not having seen her family for month now and still not being used to it.

And then, just because twins, as Rilla had always known, did anything and everything together, small Walt woke up, too, announcing it with a starling cry, as he usually did in contrast to his much quieter sister.

Balancing Ally on one hip, Rilla somehow managed to get up and take Walt out of his cradle as well, setting both children down on her lap, where the twins, now both wide awake, struck up a conversation in baby talk, or so it seemed to their amused mother, consisting of squeals and cries and other such noises only they could comprehend.

Her children thus occupied, Rilla allowed her thoughts to wander, back to a day in November, the day, the day when, after days of wondering, of not knowing, they had finally informed her of two things.

For one her father had told her that she would live, actually live, as strange as it had seemed to her back then, and then there had been Kenneth's news, which had made the thought of having to live almost impossible.

---

"Ken?" Rilla asked her husband, sitting on the edge of her bed, holding small Ally, "Ken, what's wrong?"

"Nothing" he answered quickly, too quickly almost, but it wasn't the right time, he decided, though knowing all to well, that the right time would probably never come. Not when it came to a topic like that.

He smiled instead, trying to calm her, reassure her, for he knew all to well, that she suspected something, that she herself knew that it wasn't nothing, knew that he was keeping things from her and that she worried, naturally.

Rilla didn't pry, though, wanting to give him time, perhaps.

"Shirley and Persis… brilliant news, isn't it?" she asked instead, stroking the head of her son and smiling up at Kenneth, "I mean, who would have thought, really? Two month ago they were still determined that they were 'only friends' and look at them now! Engaged!"

She laughed. "But anyway, I think it's the best for both of them. Shirley needs someone, who is happy, who can show him how to enjoy life and I think Persis can do that very well. She in turn needs a man to steady her, to hold her. And our Shirley is just that. Solid as a rock, as Jem would say."

Ken nodded. "Yes, you're right. As always." He smiled, a bit teasingly and Rilla laughed again, louder this time, but all too quickly the smile faded from his lips and her laugh had become nothing but a faint echo inside the quiet room, filled with a tension they tried to ignore, but couldn't.

"But I do hope they won't have children right away" Rilla continued, trying nonetheless to break that tension between them, this strange thing she couldn't explain, but feared, feared so much, "or, if they do, then at least I want them to have a girl first, because in all honesty I want to name my next son after your father. What do you think?"

She looked at Kenneth and he looked away, out of the window, down at their babies, anywhere but her eyes.

"Ken?"

"Rilla, I…" he stopped, drew a breath, still averting her gaze, "there… there won't be another son for us. Or a daughter either. You… you…"

He didn't finish, but there was no need to anyway. She had understood.

Or perhaps she had always known, deep down inside her, for in her eyes, beneath that broken, anguished look he couldn't bear, Ken thought he could see the terrible knowledge, a knowledge that had been there all thorough though the last few days, ever since he had first laid there children into her arms.

Yes, Rilla had known. Perhaps earlier than he had, than even Gilbert and Jem had suspected. Perhaps she had known all along.

And yet, it had not kept her from hoping. Hoping against hope, that she was wrong, that there was a way, any way, or maybe just a miracle.

He had taken that hope. He could see it, in her eyes, in her face, in the way she suddenly clutched Walt even tighter and turned slightly away from him.

There was also something else though, an emotion, not quite as strong, but evident on her features and for a moment Ken didn't know what it was, but then he realized.

Blame.

For one second Ken thought it was directed at him, that she blamed him for this and he thought it couldn't bear it, not that, but then he understood, understood that she was blaming herself and that, he knew, was even worse.

"It was an accident" he said, somewhat helpless, "it not your fault, nor anyone else's. There was nothing to be done, Rilla. It's not your fault!"

She looked at him, silently, broken, and he knew she didn't believe him, would never believe him, regardless of what he said. Perhaps she would come to the realization on her own, in her own time, or perhaps she would not. He couldn't help her, not with this, and that hurt just as bad.

"We have two beautiful little babies" he told her instead, "and what is equally important, you will be fine. All three of you will be fine. That's all I ever asked for."

And Rilla tried to smile, for his sake solely, and sighed, closing her eyes, as if wanting to close them to the world.

---

Now, over half a year later, it had become something akin to bearable, Rilla reflected, looking at her babies and dropping a kiss on each soft, fuzzy head, resolving to be thankful for the children she had rather than forever grieving those who were not to be, as hard as that sometime seemed.

She looked up then, at the door, more due to some kind of instinct than anything else and saw Ken standing there, leaning against the door-frame and watching them.

"Hey" he smiled at her.

"Hey. We didn't wake you, did we?" she asked in return, somewhat anxious, hating, as always, to interrupt his sleep, short as it was.

"No" Ken grimaced "Nightmare."

Rilla nodded, knowing those nightmares, knowing them all to well, when in sleep the war returned to her husband and surely to millions of other men all around the world, torturing them with the things seen and done, with the screams of the dying and the eyes of the dead.

Yes, she knew, even if she couldn't, would never be able to actually imagine. No-one could.

But she was there, at least, when night after night the nightmares seized Ken, when, sweating and murmuring, sometimes screaming and moaning, he lay in bed, turning wildly, trying to fend of an invisible enemy, perhaps the nightmare itself, perhaps something more horrible, a mixture of memory and imagination so horrible it haunted him still.

"Are you all right?" she asked then and Ken nodded, coming closer.

"Why aren't you in bed? All of you?" he asked in turn, gesturing towards their children, both of them looking up at their father through sleepy eyes, then casting a closer look at his wife "You are freezing."

Rilla shrugged. "Ally woke up because of the storm and then Walt woke up, too, and now they won't go to sleep."

"Perhaps they don't want to be alone" Ken suggested, gathering his son in his arms, "I can understand that. You reckon they can sleep in our bed tonight?"

Rilla nodded, already getting up, and followed Ken into their own room, where they tucked the children in first, then got into bed themselves, Ken putting an arm around Rilla and drawing her close.

Outside the house the storm continued howling with even greater force.